Fix My Feet When They're Stumblin'

Chapter 9

    Brandon's first thought was that it was cold. It seemed like an age later when another thought ambled sluggishly through his mind: I need to move...I need to...go...where? A sharp pain surged and then subsided in his chest with every shallow gasp of breath and an insistent, high-pitched ringing filled his ears.

     He felt icy water on his skin, falling in steady drops. Oh. It's wet. He opened his eyes, then blinked rapidly to drive the rain that had collected on his eyelashes away. Several seconds later, he found himself blinking up at the twilight sky, indigo blue darkening to purple with angry, heavy clouds covering up most of the stars and nearly hiding the full moon.

    I need to move, the phrase echoed through his skull again, more like an invasive message from elsewhere than a conscious thought. Experimentally, he wiggled his fingers. Okay. He wiggled his feet. Okay. He tried to move his whole arm and was rewarded with a horrible, fiery rush of pain radiating from his back and through his shoulder - fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, not okay. Maybe the other - alright, his right arm at least was okay. He tried to bend first his right leg, then the left. No problems there, that was good...just regular soreness, nothing as horrible as - he tried to lift his head and cried out as white hot agony exploded behind his eyes, bright stars suddenly appearing everywhere...nothing as horrible as that. Fuuuuuuuck. Warm tears trickled down his cheeks, and he choked back a sob. He was fucked.

    He rested his head back on the rock, eyes closed, allowing the freezing rain to wash the tears from his face and the mud from his body. Some unknown amount of time passed before, again, like an angry fly, that thought came back - I need to move.

    But I can't, he retorted. More silence, more stillness, then again - I need to move...I need to help...him? Brandon's eyebrows furrowed in confusion - even this tiny movement caused a fresh spasm of pain to course through his skull. Who needed his help? He wouldn't be much help to anyone. He just wanted to lay here - it didn't hurt as much if he didn't move. And he was so tired - he could just sleep here, it wasn't so bad.

    NO. I NEED TO MOVE. A vision of his beloved wife and three perfect little boys suddenly overtook the impenetrable blackness inside his mind, and something tugged at him, calling for him to get up. Brandon took as deep a breath as he dared, braced himself against the slippery, muddy earth with his good arm and quickly flipped himself over, now laying on his stomach - the discomfort in his chest increased drastically at the pressure and a sudden rush of nausea overcame him. He turned his head hastily to vomit into the mud. The twist of his neck triggered such agony that his vision faded to a heavy, inky blackness as he continued to cough and dry heave. Brandon moaned and laid his cheek in the mud, exhausted. His vision slowly returned, first a kind of dark gray black and white, and then finally the colors crept back. He noticed for the first time that everything seemed blurry and grainy.

    The last thing he remembered was hiking with Ronnie...Ronnie, his best friend who he had left stranded, alone, out exposed to the rain with a broken ankle. He needed to get back to him. I need to move. Brandon pushed himself up with his right arm, gasping at the stabbing pain in his shoulder and chest, and sat back on his heels. The mountainside loomed above him, and he frowned up at it...how would he ever get back up there?

    Brandon sat for a long while staring blankly at the slope, so steep it was nearly vertical, in the fading light from the last remnants of the sunset. He had fallen down this slope when it was dry, before the downpour had turned the dirt into viscous, slippery mud...and before he'd had any sort of injury. The rain had actually washed a lot of the dirt away, and he noticed with a tiny flare of hope that it resembled a cliff now, more than the crumbling, almost impenetrable wall of dirt it had been. Dozens of protruding rocks had been exposed by the rain, many only about the size of a golf ball, but...still, they would give him some purchase on the mountainside, something solid to grab onto and stand on.